Paris in the Summer
by Satan's Alter Ego
Summary: As they pose for a photograph under the Eiffel Tower, Sara grins and Neal nods minutely at Mozzie in the distance. After all, there's nothing more beautiful than Paris in the summer.


_Paris in the Summer  
><em>"Fish don't do well out of water."

* * *

><p>"You know what this means, don't you?"<p>

They were standing over the Seine and it couldn't have been a better picture, even if Neal had painted it himself on a canvas. The sun was setting, the birds were flying and somewhere in the distance violins were playing. To think, he hadn't even planned it to pan out this way.

Much.

"What does it mean?" asked Neal, tearing his eyes away from the reflection of Parisian lights in the river to look at his girlfriend.

Sara Ellis grinned, "It means you're going to have extremely high expectations when you're planning our anniversary."

"Under the impression we get to an anniversary."

"Neal Caffrey! Have you no faith in our relationship?" asked Sara, grinning widely and acting well.

"Correct me if I'm mistaken," he responded, turning so that he was leaning sideways on the bridge and looking down at her, "But in the months that we've been dating, you've broken up with me…what is it, thirteen times?"

"You are mistaken." Sara promptly replied. "It's fourteen."

"Much better."

She giggled slightly. There was something about Paris, deduced Sara, who wasn't used to giggling and grinning so much that her cheeks were actually hurting. It had to be Paris that was making her this way. It wasn't her first visit to the city but it was the first one where she could drag herself away from work and actually enjoy the City of Love. Maybe it was the cobbled streets or the road side cafes or the homey yet beautiful apartment they were staying in that had the perfect view of the Eiffel Tower, whatever it was, it was turning Sara into a giggling, giddy sixteen year old girl with a crush.

She didn't like it.

Well, Sara admitted to herself, she liked it a little.

"So," she said, leaning into her boyfriend, "We've done the Eiffel Tower, the Louvre – multiple times, in fact – and what not. What's next on the Neal Caffrey's Guide to Paris?"

"Next? Oh, this is a good one. Think you can handle it?"

Sara straightened her shoulders and put on her most serious face before nodding.

"We're going to go back home," Neal started, "You're going to get into the hot tub that I know you've been dying to try out since we got here and I am going to pick up the best pizza you will ever have. Now, I know you think there's nothing better than a slice of pizza from New York but trust me, you are wrong."

"Isn't that every girl wants to hear," drawled Sara.

A quick pat on her behind and a yelp later, they were strolling back to their apartment, hand in hand.

Neal resisted the urge to sigh in contentment as they walked. There were few better things than walking through the streets of the most romantic city in the world, holding your girlfriend's hand. Truthfully, when he'd planned the vacation, he hadn't thought it would be so romantic or perfect. Given their track record, something was bound to go wrong. But nothing had. They were still in an odd part of their relationship where perhaps taking a romantic vacation wasn't the best of ideas, but it was the only time they both had time off. Ever since his anklet had been taken off, the FBI had decided that the only way to keep him in check was to make sure he had so much work that there wouldn't be any time for his – _ahem – _extra-curricular activities.

So when the time came for a couple of weeks off, "coincidentally" coinciding with Sara's vacation, Neal immediately decided they could use some time away from New York.

There was nothing better than Paris.

"When was the last time you were here?" asked Sara, interrupting his reverie by asking the same question he was thinking of in his head.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before replying, "With Kate. Some six years ago."

Sara waited patiently for him to continue talking.

"We came here for a little R&R…and, you know, there was a precious Monet that was about to go up for viewing. But mostly the R&R," added Neal, grinning slightly. "It was an opportunity for us to get away from being the conning couple and become a regular couple on vacation. We took tours, argued with the guides about who was right and drank way too much wine. We even made vacation friends."

"You did not!"

"Did too," Neal squinted slightly as he tried to remember their names, "Dana and James Leland, I think. They're from Missouri and last I heard, they have three kids."

"Wow." Sara muttered, shaking her head, "I just cant picture it."

"What, people with kids? I know you have –" Neal snickered at the glare he received.

"Not that," Sara interrupted, "You. Being normal. Neal sans con. It just doesn't fit."

"Excuse me? I am a _reformed _conman."

Sara nodded. "I know, I know. But –"

"Yeah, I know."

They remained silent for the rest of the walk back.

As they reached the front stoop of the building, Neal paused and tugged on Sara's hand so that she was standing in front of him. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he looked down.

"You know that I've given it up, right?"

She smiled. "I know and I'm grateful that you have. It's just – sometimes, you know, I wonder whether you can actually be happy with all of this."

"All of what?"

"Sunday night dinners with Peter and Elle, going furniture shopping, watching my nephew's little league game, going to work in the morning and coming back in the evening, staying in one city for the majority of the year, being a normal person without the glitz and glamor of being a world famous con-man, art thief, forger."

Neal smiled, cupping her face with his hands. "I am happy."

That's all she needed to know.

Later, as Sara eased herself into the hot tub, Neal went out to get their pizza for dinner.

"I feel like you and Repo belong on a postcard."

Neal paused, halfway through taking out his wallet to pay. "While I'll oblige, I doubt the missus will be inclined to sit on a bench in front of the Eiffel Tower for you to paint a picture of us."

"One can hope," sighed Mozzie, folding up the French newspaper he was pretending to read, "Gordon's expecting us in an hour. You ready?"

"Been ready my whole life."


End file.
